


Backdoor Man

by mooonborne



Category: Slumber Party Massacre 2, Slumber Party Massacre ii
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, Penetrative Sex, beating rock lyrics like a dead horse, courtney is 17 in the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25627936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooonborne/pseuds/mooonborne
Summary: pwp of Courtney meeting the Driller Killer for the first time, save him revealing he killed Valerie.
Relationships: Courtney Bates/The Driller Killer, Courtney/Driller Killer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Backdoor Man

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: the only thing i own is how i wrote this!!

Her nightmare was, consequently, as normal as any of the other dozens of Courtney's restless nights: whirling drills and splatters of fresh blood, cackling laughter and all her sister's friends screaming, and it was enough to worry her mother to constantly suggest she see the same psychiatrist as Valerie, as if _he_ had all the answers to deal with the whole family.

But what was different _tonight_ was the leather-clad _stranger_ in dark, greased hair and fringe hanging off from every inch of him that wasn't direct skin. One of her nightmares had taken her to the very real and very vivid imagination of one of the hospital rooms in Valerie's dingy new College dorm, and Courtney was rocking the knee-length stained robe, which was unbuckled and thankfully loose.

He was sitting on a chair that looked about as old as the dream bars on her dream windows, but he had it turned backward so he could rest his arms upon it. From head to toe this guy was dressed up, pulled right from a glitzy, Rocker album from his sharply-upturned collar to the steel tips of his biker boots, and was even rocking the black eyeliner to match his clothes.

"Hard times, baby?" he asked, suddenly, and her belly swooped like carsickness at the feminine purr of his _voice_.

"Who are _you_?" she demanded, curled up in fetal at the farthest wall her dream bed was pressed on.

He tilted his head and grinned at her like a fox ready to feast on the fattest hen he'd ever found. "I'm your Dream Boy, honey. Your Bat out of Hell. Your one, your only ---"

"You're crazy," Courtney rebutted, and hugged her knees tighter against her. Dream or not, this guy wasn't putting any moves on her as transparently as he was doing. Where in the hell did he come from? The metal bars of her headboard and the concrete wall felt too real for anything to be taken too lightly, but she _still_ wasn't going to let some guy--- some _bad_ guy, if she judged him by his looks alone--- sweet-talk her when her nightmares lately have been too violent, and too fresh. "Who are you? I've never seen you here before."

"You ain't been ready before, darlin'," he said, and gave a little shrug as if to comfort. "Too lost in your mind, too lost and too _busy_ with thinking about pretty, crazy Valerie instead of a pretty cherry pie of _Courtney_." And his grin was sharper, more defined, and Courtney thought she could see light come off of his canine teeth.

"Don't talk about Valerie," she snapped.

"No," he agreed, surprisingly, and laid on hard with that sympathetic tone. He opened his arms as if to welcome her into a hug, even as he still sat in his chair. "This isn't about Valerie. This is about _you_. My pretty child, my sweet one," he crooned. "Beautiful Courtney. I know what you need, babygirl, and I can give it to you."

"What?" she asked, puzzled. He was too distracting, far enough from her to see his entire body, but not far enough where she couldn't _smell_ him, wasn't this supposed to be a dream? He smelled like masculine musk and motor oil, a licking electrical stench like the quiet place in a storm before the lightning strikes. He made her thinking of whirling drills, how your throat feels after you scream out a good lyric, and her turquoise guitar.

His eyes were almost the same shade of blue as her guitar, sure, but Courtney wasn't stupid.

"This is a dream," she reaffirmed, and it was frightening to hear how weak and soft her voice sounded back.

"Sure it is," he agreed, and got up from his chair. He pulled one leg over the other as if he were climbing off of a bike, and Courtney pressed harder against the wall; tightening everything around herself as he slowly but confidently sauntered over to her corner. His fringe swayed with every movement he made, and he sat on the pristine-white sheets of her bed, close enough for Courtney to touch, if she wanted.

He reached out and she flinched by instinct. He didn't act like it bugged him as he, undaunted, placed his hand on top of one of hers, clasped so tightly around her knees that her knuckles had bloomed white and nearly creaked. He smelled like fresh leather; like wet cologne, the expensive kind.

He smiled almost adoringly, and said seriously, "I can't be real unless we go all the way, babygirl. You gotta let me in."

"What?" she breathed, incomprehensibly and nakedly _staring_.

"You are me, and I am you," he said, as if it was perfectly clear. His hand atop hers had started a slow, sultry rub, and as if put under a microscope could Courtney feel every inch of his hand. He was wearing tailored but worn biker gloves with no fingers, and she could feel the cold band of one or two rings. "I told you, I know what you need. I know about those lonely nights," he soothed, and tried to intertwine her fingers with his. With a quiet horror did Courtney realize that he was actually succeeding. "When you can't satisfy those red-hot needs all your lonesome. When these soft hands ---" and he pulled their laced fingers up to his mouth, and kissed her hands and fingers and rubbed them along the rough stubble of his 5 o'clock shadow. "--- can't satisfy that burning lust you got growing inside your belly, baby. I can help you. You just gotta let me _in_."

By now Courtney was mortified. Her resolve was crumbling faster than last year's science project, and it only took him a few sentences! Without waiting for an answer did this man, this biker stranger start to kiss her hand, starting from each tip of her finger and working his way into her palm. Like a lover he pressed her hand, now warmed and burning like fire, much like her face, against his cheek, and his stubble didn't feel as prickly or as coarse as it did before.

"Who _are_ you?" she asked again, and felt herself like one of the moths she had seen in the backyard. A white, delicate moth that had fluttered too close to the backporch light, and had gotten caught by the spider's web too late.

It was only a dream, though, right? Wasn't this kind of dreaming _normal_ for a girl her age?

He grinned again and the animal glint of his teeth made her nervous, and start to loosen her hand from his grip. He held it firm. She had a flash of her reoccurring nightmare, of shining metal and of her crazed sister screaming, but the warm press of his mouth on her palm made her come back immediately to this pseudo-reality, and she didn't actually mind it. He was looking at her directly now, the seriousness of his earlier statement seeming more real now that he was literally in front of her, almost crowding her in her fetal protectiveness.

"I just wanna make love to you, honey," he said softly, and reached with his free hand to warmly cup her face. Courtney swallowed hard, and realized that she was leaning in, like an instinct, into that tender cradle.

The instant relief of pulling away from the hard, metal bars of her bed's headboard was eclipsed by the firm, warm, silky skin of the biker's kiss, and her hormonal, teenage heart felt like it was honestly going to explode. Her hand shook as she reached to grasp the edge of his too-high collar, and felt more than heard the low rumble of his pleased laughter. Then he slanted his head and took her mouth with more confidence and experience than she was truly prepared for, and Courtney slowly crawled away from her darkened corner of safety.

He played with her mouth with his lips, soft and slow and bearing a gift of a long, almost-pointed tongue; lapping at her tongue when he coaxed it out, grasping her upper arms to keep her steady, rubbing his thumbs on her skin. He took her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked it softly, and her moan made his eyes flash, and crinkle at the edges like he knew a joke he wouldn't say.

She grasped at the front of his coat and saw he had bound himself up, all zipped pockets and taut, metal buttons, and the stark difference of skin on leather gave her a fresh wave of tight goosebumps and made her shiver hard. Her nipples peaked through the front of her dream's dress. He kept kissing her and kissing her and nudged his mouth down her jaw, suckling as many marks on her as he could make as he moved down the slope of her neck, and near that tender junction where her jaw met her throat.

She moaned softly; too shy and too unbelieving that _this_ was how her night had actually dissolved into: making out with a wet dream of a greaser that felt too real, how she could actually feel the heat of his breath against her throbbing pulse, hotter and harder than anything she had tried in her life.

His mouth reached the top of her chest before it sloped into her dream's dress and started to kiss a poem there, gently and expertly persuading her to slip down her top to expose herself for him. She took a chance and threw out one of her cares past the iron bars of her Hospital Hotel and wound her fingers into his gelled hair, and smelled the cologne strongest through her manicured nails.

She scratched his scalp and found, with utmost surprise and delight, that it was one of his sensitive zones: he melted against her, and moaned a sound so raw it made her wet and soft in an embarrassingly-short amount of time, and made her giddy, too.

And as if he _knew_ what it did to her he laughed a cackling sound on her exposed breastbone and palmed her breasts boldly through her nightgown.

He cupped her in firm, wide hands, and tweaked her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. She shouted in a long, pathetic whine, frantic in craving and jerking her hips by instinct, and he helped her by placing a leather-bound thigh between her legs, tight enough to ride with. He removed one of his hands from her covered breasts to settle against her lower back, and maneuvered her to lie down within the well-made hospital bed.

"Who are you?" she asked again, dizzy with thoughts of red, teenage lust. She took a moment of her own measure to plant her own kisses: marking her own space in that junction where his ear met his skin, taking his dangling earring inbetween her teeth. "What do I call you?"

He laughed breathlessly, purposefully grinding his own thigh against her; grinding his groin against _her_ thigh, and her face burned like an overheated lighter. "I'm a Voodoo Child, honey. I'm your Backdoor Man. I'm Yours. You're Mine." And slowly and deliberately did he shift his thigh in a careful way; trying to slip inbetween her netherlips, delicate and precise to fully rub her through her tiny, dampening panties.

Courtney's eyes rolled up to the top of her head as she ground down mindlessly, digging her nails into his scalp and arching her neck from the moans that come up from him like surprise riffs. He makes her think of screaming guitars, the shriek of corded veins for a heart-rending solo. She unlatched her hand from his hair to grab at the front of his coat, and as he ground down against her she lifted her head as if from a drowning sleep.

Sleeping in a dream! She muddled frantically with the too-taut lines of his front buttons, desperate enough to unclasp both hands from his slicked hair to fiddle with his coat. He sucked a deep, wet mark on her throat and offered no help; she breathed a frantic pitch as the top two came undone, then a third, then finally a forth where a thin shade of black, wild hair peeked out from the naked opening of his collarbone.

She found out quickly that he wasn't wearing a shirt, because when she finally unzipped and unbuttoned the remaining bars of this leather prison she was faced with a broad expanse of tight muscle, corded abs, and strong arms, all laced within a fence of dark, manicured hair, as starkly colored as his head.

She ran her hands greedily over his skin with an eagerness of youth, of finally getting a gift after waiting sleepless hours before Christmas morning. Hidden within this gorgeous trail of black hair, masculine and dark with sweat, with heat, she found two, tiny nipples, shaded pink and as soft as his mouth, and she used her thumbs to pass over them, testing the boundaries and curious about limits.

All the breath left her lungs as he ground down hard enough against her thigh to feel the solid mould of his dick; exhaling heavily against her throat and _singing_ to her so softly.

The very outline of his cock was enough to place a delicious tremble in her thighs, and Courtney felt like she was put on a runaway train. She even felt the wind in her hair; the unnamed greaser held her hair in his fist, tight enough to resemble reality and enough to spread her knees open, unthinkingly.

"Anything for love, babygirl," he breathed, bypassing all affirmations and mouthing at her pert breast through the fabric of her dress. Courtney cried out, digging her nails in his skin. "I'll do _anything_ for love. I'll do anything for _you_ , _to_ you!" He moved from straddling her thigh into that tender, safe nook between her knees, and ground himself against her for one, two, three, four, hard thrusts, as if he was deliberately teasing them both.

Courtney clung to him with hands and thighs, and actually heard him growl with the high whine of a Stratocaster before he threw himself off of her. She felt the petulant argument bubbling up at the back of her throat before his sweet kisses moved with frantic purpose to her covered breasts, and then to her ribs, and then to her belly. She heaved and felt like running; this was too fast, too much, and his large hands moved with poetic slowness to her ankles as he knelt in front of her.

His boots were still on, but his coat was undone and opened, and hung off his shoulders like a fringe-lined cape. Their kissing had ruddied his face and mouth, and his eyes were stark with an ethereal glow from his smudged eyeliner. His grin was a blade from the mouth of one of those huge predator cats in history class; the prehistoric ones, with the big, sharp teeth.

In a desperate movement that Courtney counted as a private victory he freed himself from his coat in a frustrated yank, and tossed it somewhere unimportant, somewhere behind the bed. Something like attentiveness asserted itself in the way he slid his hands up to her bared knees, to hover just beneath the hem of her hospital dress.

He hummed an idle tune in a jaunty way that reminded Courtney of when she'd forgotten a song, and she brought herself up to her elbows to fully look him in the face. His attention was solely focused on how her skin was pale and creamy and how it contrasted with the hard edges of his leather clothes, rubbing calloused fingertips over her skin that made her think he definitely played, but when he looked her in eye to catch her watching and smiled at her in that soft, endearing way Courtney was starting to get wise: this unnamed greaser rocker was more ornery and bad than his angelic looks and easy-going voice were letting on, and coupled with the contradiction of soft features and hard lines, he wasn't hard to look at, and could even be additionally _dangerous_.

Without her permission he started to slip the hem higher and higher up her thighs--- his eyes eager and giddy in her continuing vulnerability, and the silent promise of her naked skin--- and he crooned at her absently with pretty, song-like phrases of praise. She had half a mind to shove her dress right back down just for a simple sense of propriety ... but she remembered that this was all a dream, and anything and everything can happen in a dream, definitely, and she had total control here.

Taking the lead, Courtney sat up, took the hem of her own dress from his hands, and pulled the crazed thing up and off her all at once and felt the excited, vibrating rush of finally taking control. She heard his laughter grating and covetous before the fabric came off completely from her head, and he was on her before she could get her bearings. With tongue, lips, and even teeth the 'greaser' sucked and suckled and tongued her exposed breasts and sensitive nipples with a feverency she had never experienced before, even in her most sordid wet dreams.

"Oh, god, _what do I call you_?" she begged, trying to bite and suck at him as much as he was doing to her. She ran her nails down the back of his neck and shoulders, hard enough to make marks; she slid her leg behind him, her knee pressed against his clothed ass, trying to pull him fully down to crowd her like she craved badly. She forcibly drove their groins together, desperate to feel his cock on her to find that sparkle of her coming end, to go somewhere.

She was wetter than she'd ever remembered being, glistened enough to make audible _sounds_ , and was soaked through her panties so much so she was now too raw to wear them comfortably.

He conceded to her in a lieu of mercy, and humped her through his leather pants and her sticky underwear, making the dream bed creak; laughing and moaning, and holding her close. In a mad haze she interrupted him before he could start another round of rock'n'roll lines and shoved him hard with help from her core, thankful to Sally for convincing her to enroll in Track this year.

She shoved him hard enough to throw him on his back, bouncing on the bed for that short moment before she was on him again.

She straddled one thigh on either side of his hips, and fully pressed herself down on his covered cock, her underwear so soaked it felt like she wasn't wearing anything at all.

He laughed harder for the first time that night and gripped her thighs and rolled with her in her own animal franticism. "Cherry pie, so pink and tight. Are you wet, _Courtney_? Are you wet for _me_? Are you gonna come on my cock?" he asked, mad and high-voiced. "Like the good girl you are?" His cock was still rock hard and throbbing in his zippered leather pants, but she was thankful for the aesthetic flap to cover it as she rode him hard, dry-humping him as a living wet dream from her subconscious fantasies.

She heaved as she sweated, bent forward to firm her palms over that sculpted muscle for leverage; her sweat dampening at her temples and clinging her loose hair to her forehead and at the back of her neck. Her naked breasts bounced as her hips moved like oil, frantic and sensuous in that frantic climb to her first orgasm.

Pure restraint and 'prudish' practice--- even as she hated to even use the word--- taught her to stave off the inevitable: to draw it out, to frustrate the craving until the coming moment lasts longer and hits her absolutely _perfect_. With her hips twitching she jerked her lower body off his hips, and as he cackled in triumph she found it contagious, and she started to laugh in her mad grab for his golden zipper.

"Oh, no, baby," he denied, chortling, clasping her hands in a tender fold of his gloved palms. He threaded their hands together and sat up; keeping her in his lap by means of shifting his hips, framing her inside like a Boyfriend-sense of possessiveness. Pure mirth creased his eyes and had him grinning, and he kissed her fingers like a slice of reverence. "Very eager, sugarpie, but I got my own plans for you tonight. I marked you good, honey, but you gotta lie back for me: let _me_ do all the work."

Courtney's head was spinning, clotted and stuffed with wet cotton. He wasn't going to let her be on top? "What are you going to do to me?"

His eyes flashed and his grin deepened like a broken razor blade. Maybe it was the lighting in this dream Mental Hospital, or the fact that it was a _dream_ , _possibly_ ; but the underline of his black eyeliner and the pallid shade of his skin made this unnamed biker hook-up look like a righteous villain in a gory horror movie. Courtney's heart sped up, and her arms and legs went taut with mammalian fear.

She felt like the moth again, trapped forever in the looming spider's web.

"Nothing you won't love," he crooned to her, and kissed her fingers and her palms with a disarming sweetness, and shifted his legs to help her lie down. Her throat bobbed and her arms and legs moved stiffly, but she agreed to the Otherworldly circumstances: you can't get hurt in a dream, and she was already so hot, and so hungry.

Without the restriction of her dress none of the early barriers made any sense: he had full reign to drag his vicious tongue down the delicate valley of her breasts, holding her quivering body firmly at her side and hip, and he hovered over her on hands and knees; shifting to lay at her side. He dragged the point of his tongue around her nipple, pert and dusky and still shiny from his earlier fun.

He kept his eyes on her face as his tongue made seamless circles, flicking the bud and watching her reactions; almost mocking her, like he'd laugh if she'd moan. She gripped the sheets of the bed and arched her back, and he rewarded her by sucking her nipple into his mouth; humming around it and keeping their eyes locked. Her face burned hot and she closed her eyes tightly, gripping her own hair in tight fists.

"Naw, open them for me," he breathed, and Courtney's ears burned from the wet sounds his mouth made. Her body undulated to keep her breasts on his tongue, and he hugged her to to him to press their bared skin tight. Her eyes snapped open. " _There_ it is, my good girl."

He made an effort, now that he knew she was looking, to show how wide and how long his tongue was as it dragged across her breasts; as it swirled around her nipples and pulled her white skin into his mouth to suck hard. Courtney was wrecked and wanton within minutes, already crested from her nearby peak and feeling like a feral animal by this point.

He kissed both breasts as if he were kissing a girl's cheek, before finally passing his mouth down her ribcage and fluttering his lips along her bellybutton; scorching her sensitive flesh with his beard shadow. Courtney had an idea of where this could be going, but she'd never really _thought_ about it before. The farthest she had ever gotten in the real world, unfortunately, was making out, and her toes curled and uncurled in an excited fog of possibility. She could barely breathe.

He reached the mound of her pubic bone, finding her frilly pair of pink-and-blue panties because they were both comfortable and her favorite, before Courtney succumbed to her instincts and gripped his hair in both hands. She had the pleasure to see his eyes roll up to the back of his head before he leaned forward to breathe hard on her covered cunt, making her arch and spread her legs and whine high and loud.

He nosed her through the soaked fabric of her panties, and reached with both hands to slip them down her hips. Courtney covered her mouth out of pure habit, before she remembered where she was and what she was doing; she gripped the bedsheets above her head as she watched the dream Boy gently shuck the final piece of clothing down her legs and off of each foot, and she felt totally vulnerable and completely exposed.

Courtney felt like an electric line was connected to each of her nipples, raw and pointed and so tender that even a breeze could make them ache; and one thick livewire connected to her clit, throbbing pointedly and swathed in her unshaved nest of dark pubic hair. 

If she knew she was going to have "company" she would have shaved, but he made a kissing sound as if he found it _cute_. She scooted up farther along the bed when he crawled on hands and knees toward her, but she stopped when she got far enough to see she would probably fall off if she kept it up.

She felt a breeze from the bars of the Hospital's windows in a place that made her bloom with heat, her face inflaming, and she closed her knees to prevent her heart from skipping; as if that could stop him from seeing how far he had affected her. He grinned wider and winked at her, and made a tsking noise as he grasped her raised knees.

"I ain't going nowhere, darlin'. I'm gonna rate your record high, you'll see." There was a finesse to how he placed kisses to the bulb of her kneecaps, and how he gently kissed a trail to the insides of her thighs, and the warmth of his mouth and his voice was just enough to get Courtney to relax. Her knees fell open naturally, and he settled on his stomach to truly look at her exposed mound, the silky flower of her gentle core. He blew on her just to seemingly get her reaction, and she cupped her face away in a habitual shyness.

" _C'mon_ , darlin', I don't bite." She peeked through her fingers to see him bounce his eyebrows and waggle his tongue. "Unless you'd like that. Does this cherry pie moonlight as a video vamp?" Without hearing her answer he dragged the long length of his tongue along her folds, wiggling the tip to touch and taste the throbbing heart of her clit, and she nearly shrieked. He cackled in pure delight and did it again, adding firmer pressure to her inner lips and lapping at her as if he was savoring her taste and texture like a sex connoisseur. 

He grasped her legs to situate them over his shoulders, and Courtney's chest heaved as she gripped his hair. Every focal point of her body's nerves were centered specifically on where the dream greaser's tongue was moving, and her thighs shook when he swirled countless spirals against her clit; slipping the point of his fantastic tongue gently around her hood to keep her farther away from her never-ending orgasm. With her back arched almost into a perfect 'c' he used his fingers to softly peel away the outer lips of her labia, giving him even more room to play with and to touch and to taste, and Courtney's eyes balked and her panting grew louder when she felt one of his _fingers_ touch her.

He gathered her clit into the softest parts of his lips and tongue and sucked on her gently, and rubbed and fondled her red skin with the pad of his thumb. "Oh, _fuck_ ," she moaned, and thrust her hips out to ride this incredible feeling. Her moan turned girlish and sultry when he hummed in a masculine approval, and rubbed his mouth against her while slipping his thumb inside.

He thrust against her shallowly, rigid in the line of his shoulders and curling against her foot like a cat when she smoothed it there.

"Darlin'," she moaned, because there wasn't any indication that he had actually given her a _name_. "Baby. Honey. Oh, _fuck_. That feels so good, baby. _Please_ don't stop."

"Never, baby," he breathed, thick and raspy and half-crazed. Using his nose to rub her clit he dipped his tongue beside his thumb, and both performed a rhythmic thrust inside her, licking at her inner walls where his thumb couldn't. "Scream it loud, scream it proud. Lemme hear how fucking good this feels."

Like the pink beginning of a conch shell Courtney finally dissolved away her shyness, her embarrassment of virginity, and her moans sang out loud and long and even felt therapeutic. She writhed on the tangling sheets of her dream bed, smelling the smells of both herself and her dream Boy; the masculine tang of motor oil and her heart's fondness for guitar strings and the mechanical insides of amplifiers.

He pressed his tongue flat and firm and directly over the heartbeat of her swollen clit, finally, and her orgasm ripped through like the shred of an electric guitar. Courtney screamed, twitching and galloping and jerking her hips and thighs and legs and clutching her greaser boyfriend hard, gripping his hair tight in white-knuckled hands. He whined and sped up his work, sunk his thumb completely inside her to the muscle; working her open with his tongue and lips and greedy moans, drinking her in as if he was desperate for her.

The dream around her started to fizzle and come undone as she breathed pathetically against the sweat-damp sheets of this dream Mental Hospital, where so many bad memories grew like weeds that she had never even really experienced! She threaded her fingers through the slicked hair of her rocker stranger, now limp in her hands from so much abuse, and from the thighs down her legs were numb.

Some sense of cruelty kept this greaser boy still lapping at her swollen insides, licking away any trace of her cum from her abused folds, and she sighed brokenly when it made her sore. He hummed compassionately against the throbbing pearl of her skin before he kissed her mound sweetly, rubbing his thumbs and palms on her inner thighs. "Little Miss Innocent," he teased, kissing his way back up her body, dipping his tongue inside her belly button.

"Crazy little woman in a one man show," he continued, eyes flashing, nipping at the valley of her breasts. Courtney could barely move, save for breathing, and as he came up to loom over her, all she could do was stare dumbly; her mouth opened, her unclenched hands thrown above her head.

"Wow," she breathed, and that predatory orneriness came up again to greet her.

"You got the peaches, I got the cream," he suggested, bouncing his eyebrows, and bent down to his elbows on either side of her head. He pressed his body against her supine form, sheathed in sweat and feeling sticky in embarrassing places. By habit Courtney's hand slid back inside his hair, and he nuzzled into it, pressing his mouth on her palm. "I can't be real until we go all the way," he repeated, and the seriousness bloomed back inside his eyeshines.

Now that the first haze of sex had come and gone like a fresh sneeze in allergy season, Courtney's head was back in the game. Her eyebrows furrowed. "That's twice you've said that. What does it mean?"

He gave a boyish little shrug and started to kiss her wrist, mouthing his path down to her elbow, and then across her shoulder. Courtney lifted her neck to welcome the warmth of his mouth, and he hummed in open approval. 

"I'm stuck in dreamtime, sugar, until those happy little virgin days are gone for good. That's the way it's supposed to be," he hummed, and gently took her earlobe between his teeth.

Her eyes fluttered, and she swallowed to gain her bearings. Because it felt good, she wrapped her arms around his back and weaved her legs through his, sliding her naked calves up his leather-clad legs. She gripped the top of one of his boots with her toes. "S-stuck in dreamtime?"

He made a sound to signify that this topic wasn't the most interesting, and dragged his tongue firm and flat along her pulse. Courtney's eyes closed, tilting her hips to fully press herself against his lower body. 

"You need me," she problem-solved, and he kissed her fervently at her cheeks and mouth. She had difficulty speaking when his lips, so soft and still musky from the taste of herself, made her realize the delicate situation of her nakedness, and how he got her to moan and scream herself hoarse in seconds flat. "--- to make you real, by sleeping with me?"

"Mhm," he answered amiably, and ground down slow his covered groin.

A spark sizzled in the middle of Courtney's lower back, and she arched into him without thinking. "I-I've never--- "

"I know," he interrupted compassionately, and lifted his head from her neck to gaze at her warmly, threading her damp hair away from her face. "That's what I'm here for, honey. To be your designated driver on the Highway to Heaven."

Courtney's head was spinning but she didn't feel afraid anymore. She ran her manicured nails down the strong slope of his back, marveling that she could make him arch and press into her by simple gestures. She had never been needed so much before, and by such a killer guy.

"Alright," she conceded, and interrupted the song verbatim by the dream greaser's growing grin. "But I call the shots, and I get to say when to stop. You dig?"

His eyebrows twitched and his grin dipped as if he could change her mind, but he nodded and kissed her cheek. Her orgasm-trembling limbs were slowly becoming steady in the slow massage of tracing her nails across his warm, smooth back, and she dipped into a confident kiss that she initiated. 

The sweltering taste of her inner fluids glowed in the wet slide of their touching tongues, and Courtney's mind grew fuzzy. With flexing knuckles she scraped her nails down his skin, and by his huff and smothered moan this dream dude liked the hard pull, and his smell was all around her. She broke the kiss before it really got started and was given the golden opportunity to hear him whine, but she kissed his chin and his bottom lip to apologize.

"Lie back," she instructed, and pressed her hands on his shoulders. "I want to see you."

She flushed hard at his ravening grin, but pushed him at his shoulders to confirm what she wanted. He followed her instructions, nevertheless, and his back was once more against the twisted sheets of the dream bed.

He posed, flexing obviously by the taut lines of his stomach and arms, and placed his hands behind his head to simper into the matress more comfortably. His grin was sharp and cheeky but Courtney would not be daunted.

She had never had a man in her hands before. _At_ her hands. She straddled him like she did moments ago, sitting on his thighs and opened and somewhat shy about being completely naked, but the bouncing line of the greaser's eyebrows made her feel steel in her spine. She straightened and splayed her hands flat on his lower stomach, and played with the trail of hair just above the lip of his leather pants.

Her curiosity and the freedom to take what she had always wanted made her giddy and grinning almost as brightly as the waiting rocker boyfriend, and she ran her hands all along his torso, slipping her fingers in the creases of tight muscle and touching the texture of his growing hair above his chest and sides. It was thrilling to see how much her touch _affected_ him, too, as he arched and swayed and pressed himself into her palms, and how he moaned, unashamed, when she pinched his tender nipples.

The make of his pants made her think of jeans, savvy the black, supple leather, and behind the long lip of loose fabric hid his single, metal button. Admittedly her fingers trembled when she unclasped it, but her grip around his zipper made her feel firmer inside her body, and the harsh sound of the scraping teeth made her shiver down to her tailbone.

She gawked. He wasn't wearing boxers either, because that manicured patch of body hair trailed all the way down into his groin, where she had to actually reach in to maneuver his cock from his pants. He was hot and firm, hotter than she'd imagined a man _could_ be! He was soft all over and thick enough to match her wrist, and when she cupped him fully she automatically ran her thumb beneath the tiny lip of his swollen head, and was startled hard by his rough jerk.

"Fuck, baby, how's it feel?" he breathed, wrecked and wrung out and Courtney snapped her head back up to him like she was caught. He had snatched a fist into his own hair and grinned at her like he was stoned. "Good girls go to heaven, but the bad girls go everywhere. Is this the first time you ever held a fat cock in those pretty hands?"

She balked harder and blushed deep enough to bloom sweat at her neck, and her sense of confidence reminded her that she held his cock in _her_ hands. She squeezed him just enough to get him to whimper and to throw his head back, gripping his hair hard enough to nearly yank it out.

"It is, actually," she sniped, and rubbed her thumb again on that same, smooth place, and decided to use both of her hands to really get her interest sated.

His skin was flushed and dark pink in color the same as his lips, and looked hilariously innocent amidst the closely-shaven triangle of his black pubic hair. His balls--- and her face blushed _hard_ \--- were even-shaped and bald, and when Courtney cupped the surprisingly silky heft in her palm he let out a wheeze that made her think he was dying. Her eyebrow cocked and she cradled his balls, and something raunchy and wild came to her in a memory: a trick from Shelia, sex-pot friend and confident idol, when you really wanted your man to go nuts.

Gentling her hand as that like a cloud, Courtney dabbled a mouthful of spit, and let it drool down her lips to aim it at the top of his cock's crown. Bullseye! She'd never tell her friends or anyone else aside from this room that she could do this, but the glistening trail dripped from the head of his red, swollen member, and actually jerked in her palm like a twitching heartbeat. He made a sobbing noise and whined like a new guitar when Courtney took another step and rubbed her spit in his skin, mimicking a soft jack-off movement.

"Oh, _Courtney_ , the heart of rock'n'roll is still _beatin_ '," he clutched his chest and arched his neck down to her; his eyes bright and crazed. He looked absolutely wild with his messy hair and panicked expression, and he reached for her to grasp her arms. "It's all for you, darlin'. Do that again. Don't let me down."

Pure pride and an ingrained want for praise had her squeeze his cock, reveling sweetly in his moans and heavy exhale, and Courtney tried different techniques to see which one he really shined for. Twisting her wrist on the upstroke and slicking his head in her palm seemed to really do the trick, since he moaned from his throat and arched his neck and spread his thighs when she cupped his balls, too. She was grinning by the time she was really starting to get the hang of it, and she could spot the glitter of his own sweat by his temples, and dotting his hair and at his upper lip.

She licked her lips in sympathy, and found her hips grinding mindlessly and slicked incredibly between her thighs. "Honey," she called softly, and felt another thrill when he answered to it, his eyes glassy and hazy and his pupils all but swallowed the color of his irises.

"You need to take your boots off. It'll feel weird to keep them on."

He blinked at her, and looked down past her. She cradled and fondled his cockhead in her palm and saw the whites of his eyes, and he nodded frantically. "Alright, alright, sugarpie, I hear you." She beamed.

"I'm still on top," she intercepted, as they moved in tandem: her releasing him from her hands and slipping off his hips to sit back on the bed, as he slid completely off to hurriedly take off his boots, one after the other.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby," he answered, distracted; chucking his last boot somewhere near his discarded coat, and he took another step and pulled down the remaining length of his black leather pants. That 'new' feeling hit Courtney like a hard wave, and was spotted by the coming leer of a very gorgeous, very naked greaser head with a never-ending well of rock lyrics, slinking toward her with a direct, carnal purpose.

She started to breathe hard and started to back away again, but he was one more step ahead of her and grasped her hips in both hands. He tutted at her mouth, so close enough to smell his breath and his overwhelming perfume. "What are you waitin' for? You gonna run now?"

He was right: she wasn't going to run after everything and _everything_ he had put her through, but to see a naked stud right up against her--- no tricks, no catch, save for the fantasy of her wet dream, and _boy_ is it a good wet dream--- is more than she counted for when dealing for months with her drilling nightmares. Is this a metaphor? she thought absently. Some psychosis her doctors would diagnose her with forever?

Was being drilled the same as being _drilled_?

"Who are you?" she asked again, because she had to, and his eyebrows flew skyward.

He grinned as bright as the danger that resembled the full moon, and answered, "I'm burnin', burnin', darlin'; I got the Fever. I know for sure," he said seriously. " ---there ain't no cure." He kissed her mouth as he spoke, massaging his hands up the plump skin of her hips and insinuating himself between her legs. Courtney's eyes flashed open when she felt the red-hot heat of his cock on her inner thigh. "So feel it, don't fight it! Go with the flow."

In a flash of movement he pivoted her to straddling him again, his cock flushed and bobbing by her pubic bone as he settled against the dream bed's coverlet. He still kept his gloves on, and the sharp distinction of warm skin and warmed leather was a seductive one, and Courtney's nipples peaked and arched in her hard inhale.

He moaned softly and leaned forward to suck on that tender nipple, and Courtney's breath hitched and she wound her hand through his hair. He hummed like a song around her skin when she gripped him in one hand.

There wasn't any worry for hard preparation in a dream, right? You break your leg in a dream, you're fine and dandy when you wake up. Shifting her hips at just the right angle, and him catching her drift and aiding her body with an alignment just right, Courtney rubbed the head of her dream greaser biker rocker boyfriend on the jilt of her clit, and whined high at the back of her throat. A gorgeous zinging flirted across her nerves and twisted in her wrists and hips, and using her slick as just the right concentrate, she angled him perfectly and started to slide down.

He was huge! She gripped his forearm and shoulder as she passed a panicked look at nothing behind him, as he murmured delicate phrases and moaned into her ear about how good she felt, how hot, how tight, how wet. She felt like she was going to burst at the seams, like it was a horror movie just waiting to pop out from the corner of her eyes. It _burned_ , going in, a prickly, salty itch that both dampened and heightened her roaring lust, like white fire at the tips of her fingers.

She gasped and gawked and heaved against her rocker's naked body, as he hugged her and slid her down when she didn't have the strength to do it herself. He pressed open-mouthed kisses on the side of her face, on her neck, on her shoulder, rocking her down until she was firmly seated home. Her whole heartbeat pulsed in her core, jerking her with untouched nerves and painful sensitivity.

"Oh my god," she breathed, pressing her forehead against his neck, where she felt somewhat safe. "Oh my _god_. Fuck, you're _huge_. I can feel everything!"

His high-whined cackle shook them both, and he nuzzled his face into her sweat-damped hair, thrice over. Whether by instinct or his orneriness or everything added with his desperation, he rolled his hips forward and sunk deeper inside her. She cried out, weak and feminine, and he groaned in chorus and kissed her hard.

She scratched at his scalp and moaned against his mouth, her mind swimming with over-sensitivity and overwhelmed breathing. He rolled his hips forward again, sinking deeper inside her and bypassing any admittance of permissions. "No serenade, no fire brigade," he murmured, grasping onto her hips to press her down _deeper_. He heaved fervidly, tucking his face in her neck to speak brokenly: "Just pyromania. C'mon, baby. Light my fire."

She swallowed and struggled to catch her breath, and wiggled her hips in a simple shift that had them both gasping. She dragged her mouth on his shoulder, and tried it again. The burn was ever-present but it wasn't like a salty slice anymore; it was burning, sure, hotter than that purifying white fire, but it was shifting into a heady, swollen feeling, like she had a ripping guitar solo just sitting in her ribcage, waiting for her to scream it out.

She willfully dragged her hips backward off of him, and felt, with total reality, how he slid smoothly out of her, dragging inside her sore walls and twitching in her thighs as if she was electrocuted. She sat down on him again, fully, and her solo flew out of her, naked and raw and cracking her voice.

He laughed breathlessly and couldn't decide where he wanted to hold her, fluttering his gloved hands and grabbing at her back, her waist, her ass. He settled for grabbing at the back of her head, weaving his fingers in her hair, and gripping one, solid asscheek. He smacked her ass in sharp sound and made her squeak. "Ride the lightning, honey."

She scoffed and bit his shoulder, and he laughed and bit _her_ shoulder, and she shifted her hips again to repeat and crawl deeper into her rabbit hole of physical sensation. She was stretched and tight and warm, and her fluids were dripping down into his lap; she knew this because she could _feel_ it, how the softest folds of their bodies were gently smacking against each other as she increased her speed, scratching an itch she had always had but could never scratch it _right_.

It was his experience that gave her movements poetry, and he guided her hips against him with his gloved hands to turn her shifting into something more sensuous, a rocking music video to her earlier attempts at a talent show. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and started singing; wordy, garbled attempts at his earlier praises that had him crooning and verbally adoring her.

He roughly massaged her asscheek and she felt his hips grind powerfully beneath her, and the complete vision of this physical act hit her all at once, and then her mind shut down from all rational thinking. She was a woman on top of the fattest cock she'd seen save from porn, attached to the hottest man she had ever seen period, and was genuinely allowed to be _herself_ in all her naked, sweating glory.

"Love," she rasped, bracing her knees and calves and bouncing, now. She gasped and moaned prettily and bit at her bottom lip, now shedding blood from the tips of her acrylic nails. "Honey, baby, sweetie. That feels so _fucking_ good. I can't stop."

The bed creaked hard enough to come off the wall and this was all so _surreal_. Her heart pounded in her throat and in her cunt, and she slid and pushed and fucked him hard enough to make bruises. Whether it was her dream reality or the man she was lucky enough to encounter, she felt feral. She felt like the first woman ever made, like back in caveman days.

Her greaser boyfriend was a sobbing mess of masculine music, fucking her perfectly and pulling back to stare at the sordid, messy place of where they were joined. No matter what he said or how he said it, groaning, grunting, whining, or keening, he always had a smirk ready to shine in his eyes, or at the crease of his mouth, and Courtney found herself smiling, too. She was grinning and gripping his face, kissing and moaning in his mouth as their tongues entwined, and her movements were growing sloppy, uncoordinated.

"Gonna cum, honey?" he rasped, growling from this unspooled tension finally cutting loose. "Gonna cum all over me, show me how pretty you look?"

She gasped incoherently and ground down rapidly, keeping him inside her as her shredding riff was ready to flex its fingers. The predator of her dream boyfriend bubbled up inside him in growling, short breaths, long and slow and satisfied that she was exactly where she needed to be. They were both shiny with sweat and heat, and he wrapped her waist in his arms. "C'mon, sweetheart, let it loose. This is all for you, babygirl. Lemme feel you cum on my fat cock."

She tried to hold it off for as long as she could, clenching her muscles and running away from the scorching heat of her end, but it snuck up on her when she felt his guitar-calloused fingers rub hard and fast on her engorged clit, and she came so hard she couldn't make a sound.

Her back bowed and her mouth opened, and her eyes were set wide and unseeing. Everything clenched down on her like she was having a seizure. It was a few minutes of hearing the roar of her own blood and the artful spasm of her entire body that she realized her dream boyfriend was still talking:

"Yeah, that's it, keep going. So sweet, cherry pie, look at how red you're gettin'. So soft and wet and tight for me, _that's_ it, baby." She was sensate enough to grasp him as if he was her raft in a vicious storm, and he tucked his face in her neck and started to fuck her quickly, strongly, enough to audibly smack the skin of her ass and thighs and Courtney's verbal dam shattered.

She wailed and cried and gripped him hard enough to draw blood, the whimpering virgin teenager no longer a road she could go back to, and he moaned and moaned and _moaned_ against her throat when he finally came, thick and swearing and drawn-out into wordless praise. She ground her hips mindlessly against him; almost numb and burnt out, threading her fingers through his hair and rubbing the scratches she had made with soft, tender fingers.

They heaved together, the raft of their carnal buoyancy slowly coming to a vulnerable halt.

Courtney was a throbbing, loose-limbed mess, sore in places she had never been before. She draped herself across her dream stranger's shoulders; breathing heavily against the sweat-damp chord of his throat, and pressed her ear against it. Softly, she could hear him singing, muttering something about purple flutes and crystal ships, and he hugged her warmly, bracing her head against his own.

"I'm real now, baby. Dream a little dream of me."

She blinked hard and jolted in his arms, and _everything_ changed.

* * *

The rubberband snap of herself--- naked and sore and sticky with two types of cum--- compared to herself as dry and swathed in fresh cotton and hearing the birdsong outside was enough to throw her off her bed, and Courtney hit the ground with a fresh thud.

It was morning, and her mind supplied that it was a thankful Friday. She gave herself a total body shiver and cupped her face in her hands, sitting on the floor and trying to regain her waking bearings.

What the _fuck_ was _that_? That was the most vivid dream she had ever _had_ , beyond the count of whether or not it was a wet one!

She caught a glint of something familiar at the tips of one of her fingernails, and she stared at it as if she could visibly wrap her mind around it.

A crust of dark red blood, dried and peeling, was still rimmed on a few of her acrylic fingernails, and if she thought hard, and ignored the bodily flush of heat, she felt the telltale sign of a sore, raw _difference_ in her body when she clenched in a delicate place.

She gawked and cupped her mouth, and her eyes bulged over her hand. She caught a glance of something moving in her bed, and a stark head of black, messy hair greeted her over a smug, familiar face.

"Good morning, starshine. The earth says hello."


End file.
